wishes for the object, which seemed to be so much to him, became
eager and hot.

'Is there nothing to be done?' she asked at last, putting out her
fat hand to take hold of his in sympathy.

'There is nothing to be done,' said George, who, however, hated
himself because he was doing nothing, and still thought occasionally
of that plan of choking his rival.

'If you were to go to Basle and see the man?'

'What could I say to him, if I did see him? After all, it is not
him that I can blame. I have no just ground of quarrel with him.
He has done nothing that is not fair. Why should he not love her if
it suits him? Unless he were to fight me, indeed--'

'O, George! let there be no fighting.'

'It would do no good, I fear.'

'None, none, none,' said she.

'If I were to kill him, she could not be my wife then.'

'No, no; certainly not.'

'And if I wounded him, it would make her like him perhaps. If he
were to kill me, indeed, there might be some comfort in that.'